'A New Year's Hope'

This is a regular column featuring original poetry and fiction by and for teens, provided by Figment, the online community writing site for young readers and writers.

By Jina, 10th grade

"Wait, so who's that?"

"That... is Anakin when he's a little kid," the older brother, Alex, explains to his younger brother. "And that's C3PO, and that's..."

"Yeah, yeah, we know," Theo, the middle brother, snaps.

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I watch them through the kitchen door. I finish stuffing the last bite of egg noodles into my mouth and look up at the clock. "7:09," flashes the green glowing letters on the LCD screen. In an hour, all my friends, including the guy I'm dating/my almost boyfriend, will be driving into the city for "First Night," and I will still be here. I'll be here until 9:00.

I walk into the living room and sit on the couch, my eyes scanning their glowing TV. They are watching "Star Wars: Phantom Menace," the first one. My older brother made my whole family watch all the "Star Wars" movies last summer, but I was at a sleepover at my friend Leanna's house when they watched this one, so I never got a chance to see it.

After about 20 minutes more of whirring light sabers and flashing blasters, I hear noise coming from upstairs, obviously coming from their youngest brother JT, who is three and supposed to be sound asleep in bed. At least, I hope it's coming from the toddler, and not from someone breaking in or something. I have no idea what JT stands for, and I think it might be spelled Jay Tee.

I open the door to his room, not to find him sleeping, but to see his whole room illuminated by his 101 Dalmatians lamp and him dancing in the middle of the room. His pants are wet. My eyes widen.

"Did you wet yourself?!" I ask. I am not prepared for this. Oh God. Please no.

"Oh no," he says simply. "I just spilled my water. Can I have somowah?"

"Oh, oh sure. Be right back," I tell him, quite relieved.

Down the stairs. Faucet on. Fill cup. Faucet off. Back up stairs. Through hall. Open door...

"Here you go," I tell him, softly patting his little blonde head. "Now go to sleep, and don't spill that again."

I sigh as I sit back down on the worn out velvety couch, back to another part of the movie I have not been following. We continue watching the movie for another hour and a half. I am almost asleep by the time the doorbell rings. The parents are back. Thank God.

I stand in their doorway, pulling on my gloves, coat, hat, and scarf. I have to walk home alone in the dark. Sheesh. I step out onto their porch. I can only see my breath out in front of me. I hear that girls get kidnapped if they aren’t careful. As I am grasping the cold metal railing to take my first step off the porch I hear the crunching of footsteps on ice coming up their little path. I suffocate my scream as I stumble down the stairs, slipping, falling, right into his arms.

He’s laughing. I’m laughing. I know it's him. I can feel his wool coat, his arms around me, his laugh. I know it all. And he knows me. Suddenly, we are quiet. The only reason I know he is still there is the white fog emitting from his mouth a few inches above my head.

Then his hand is on my cheek, and his lips are pressed against mine.

This article originally appeared on HuffPost.